All The World
by I am the Angel of Music
Summary: Chrissy Day, a fifteen year old girl, is plagued by ADD, adolescence, questionable adults, and a deadly rival. Can the masked stranger who lives in the depths of the local playhouse help her through his music? Yes, a cliche summary, but the best I can do.
1. Loss and Music

**Mom, they're making me do a DISCLAIMER: I don't own any version of Phantom, ALW, GL, SK, or various other adaptations. And I don't own Shakespeare's quote, aka the title of this story. But I do own other things...figure it out for yourself. R&R!**

**Chapter 1—Loss and Music**

"_Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye!_

_Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try!_"

The melody ran through my head as I wrote the lyrics in the margin of my social studies notes. I was supposed to be studying, but I couldn't stop singing to myself. My ADD prevented any sort of concentration on the Civil War. To me, almost nothing was more of a letdown than the six and a half hours we were forced to spend in school 180 days of the year. I had been receiving B's and C's lately because the disorder of my mind had worsened over the switch from a private school to a public school. I had been in the public school since fourth grade, and now, as a freshman with spring fever as well as attention deficiency, I couldn't keep my mind on anything.

Anything, that is, that did not interest me. I could concentrate enormously when playing my electric guitar, or singing a song, or learning my part for the musical that I was in. This was often the problem—I would be thinking about Christine's character rather than Chrissy's homework. I would be picturing the Phantom standing before me instead of one of my teachers. As you have probably guessed, I am playing Christine in _The Phantom of the Opera_. When the local playhouse—The Actors' Place—had had the auditions, I was practically jumping out of my skin. _Phantom_ had been my obsession for over two years, and I had immediately tried out for my dream role of Christine. I had rehearsal today, and I couldn't wait for 2:15 to come so I could escape the clutches of the self-called authority.

"Chrissy? _Chrissy!_"

The teaching assistant, Mrs. Frost, had a voice that could cut glass. I snapped out of my reverie and looked up at her. "What?"

"Who was the leader of Pickett's Charge?"

I shrugged. "Pickett?" I guessed. What the hell was Pickett's Charge?

"You're guessing," she said accusingly. I shrugged again. "Try studying instead of covering your notes with writing. Come on now, get going."

_Come on now, get going._ I mocked her inside my head but dared not say anything aloud. Dutifully, I laid down my pencil and bent my head over the page. I was going to fail the bloody test anyway, so what? I could be an actress without knowing what Pickett's Charge was. Honestly.

Thankfully, the bell rang. I dashed off to lunch—only it and science to go. At least I had lunch group today, where my two friends, Aria and Megan, and I went to the guidance office to escape the lunchroom and talk with each other. They both loved _Phantom_ as well—and although Aria's strict religion as a Jehovah's Witness kept her from being involved, Meg had gotten a supporting role in the musical alongside me. It was funny how I—Chrissy—was cast as Christine, and Megan had the part of Meg.

I was only too happy to escape from the Social Studies room, and then from the cafeteria, to finally relax on the leather couch in Mrs. Galen's office. I proceeded to devour my macaroni and cheese, which was usually pretty bad but was good for some reason today. Megan came in, followed by Aria, and we all locked our eyes on the TV screen. For every lunch group, one of us brought along the new DVD of _Phantom_, starring Gerard Butler, Emmy Rossum, and Patrick Wilson. We loved to sing along with our parts, and today we watched the scene where Christine and Meg sing "Angel of Music."

"_Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory!_"

"_Who is this Angel, this…_"

"_Angel of Music, hide no longer! Secret and strange Angel!_"

"I wish I had an Angel of Music," I commented dreamily. Aria shook her head.

"It would seem awfully scary," she said. Just then, the phone rang, and Mrs. Galen went to pick it up as the rest of us continued to watch the movie. She glanced at me, her usually neutral face going several shades paler. I didn't entirely notice until she hung up and stopped the movie. She stood in front of the screen.

"Chrissy—I have terrible news."

I was immediately alert, putting down the tray I had been holding. "What is it?"

"Your father," she began, "he was driving down the highway. The rain we've been having all day has made the roads terrible, and he lost control of the wheel. He skidded off the road and crashed. I'm sorry, Chrissy—he didn't make it."

The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. All of the color drained from my face, and my hands gripped the edge of the seat. My father—the only member of my family who had been kind to me—was dead. Oh, god.

The sympathetic Aria was looking at me in mingled horror and pity. She moved to sit next to me, wrapping her arms around me in a comforting embrace. Megan reached out and put a hand on my arm.

"No," I whispered. "No—this can't happen to me. Not now."

"Chrissy, I'm sorry," said Mrs. Galen again.

Fury and sadness welled up in my heart. I pushed my friends away and stormed out of the room. I thought I heard them calling after me, but I broke into a run, straight down the hall and out of the building. My blind anger kept me going. I couldn't see a thing in the pouring rain. I didn't know exactly how I got there, but I suddenly found myself at the back door of The Actors' Place. I opened the door and made my way through a secret passage that I had discovered to the hall that housed my personal dressing room. I burst into it and flung myself onto the couch, and only then did I allow tears. But although I willed them to, no tears would fall from my eyes. Only dry sobs racked my body, and I buried my face in one of the pillows, shaking.

I heard something click near my door, but nothing mattered now. My only true friend in the world was gone, and I was alone. Finding that I could not cry, I sat up and began to sing softly, my breath still catching in my throat.

"_Child of the…wilderness, born into…emptiness,_

_Learn to…be lonely! Learn to…find your…way in…darkness!_

_Who will…be there…for you…comfort…and care for…you?_

_Learn to…be lonely! Learn to be…your one…companion—_"

I couldn't go on. Would I ever learn to be lonely? I would have to. I couldn't let the cast down. I would have to put the pain of my losing my father into Christine, who had lost hers as well. I buried my head in my hands, still shaking irrepressibly.

"_Chrissy…Chrissy…_"

My head jerked up. "Whose is that voice?" I said quietly.

"_Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance!_"

The next line of the song came to me almost automatically.

"_Angel or father, friend or phantom, who is it there, staring?_"

I heard a violin's faint strains playing. The music seemed to be coming from the walls of the room, and I looked around fearfully.

"_Too long you've wandered in winter, far from my far-reaching gaze!_"

"_Wildly my mind beats against you…_"

"_You resist…_"

"…_yet the soul obeys!_"

Whose was this voice? It called to me so sweetly, making me forget the entire world around me, and I only knew that I had endured the pain of a great loss. On instinct, I looked toward the tall mirror that was on one wall. To my shock, I saw, not a reflection of the room, but a shadowy figure, his face partially covered in a white mask. His image became sharper as I watched him, and he stepped out of the mirror towards me.

"Who are you?" I asked him. "Are you the Angel of Music?"

"I am no Angel," he replied. "You may call me Erik."

It was as though he had me under a spell. I never told my body to rise, but it did as Erik held out his black-gloved hand. My eyes never leaving his face, I took it. His touch sent fiery spasms down my arm, but it was more pleasure than pain. The unmasked side of his face was incredibly handsome and tempting. He wasn't exactly smiling, but his emerald eyes held a spark that drew me in like a magnet. His other hand went out and touched my face gently.

"I have been watching you for some time, Chrissy," he said, his deep, seductive voice filling my mind. "You sing like an angel."

"Me?" I said, confused.

"Yes," he replied. "I hear you sing Christine's role, and I hear the pain you have endured and the beauty that will be. I need your voice, Chrissy. It calls me out of the depths of self-hatred and makes me live again. Come with me," he said, drawing me a bit closer to him, "and we shall sing, such music as has never been even dreamed of!"

"Where?"

His palm trailed down my cheek and touched my neck. "To the place that I live in. It is a temple of music, Chrissy. Music is the only god to me. Come."

He let go of the hand he held, moving both to my back. He pulled me into his arms and I gazed up at him, catching my breath. Strangely, I did not feel as though I needed to be afraid. As long as he touched me, I was safe—safe from the world and all its hardships. I wanted to go to this place of which he had told me. It seemed almost surreal as he took my hand again and led me to the mirror. Without hesitation, I stepped inside, and it slid shut behind us. Erik stopped and cupped my chin with his hand.

"Sing for me, Angel! Sing music from the Opera!"

My voice almost didn't need the command. I began to sing.

"_In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came,_

_That voice which calls to me and speaks my name._

_And do I dream again? For now I find,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind!_"

As I sang, he led me through a dark hallway, always going down farther, deep into the earth. This was the part where he came in, and he did, his rich tenor making the tunnel ring with sound.

"_Sing once again with me, our strange duet!_

_My power over you grows stronger yet!_

_And though you turn from me, to glance behind,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind._"

We had come upon a black horse. Erik placed his hands gently around my waist and lifted me into the saddle. One of his hands took the reins of the horse, and the other remained on my leg, making sure I did not fall off.

"_Those who have seen your face draw back in fear._

_I am the mask you wear!_"

"_It's me they hear!_"

When our voices joined, I felt the passion grow and was grateful for his support.

"_Your / my spirit and my / your voice in one combined!_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my / your mind!_"

Now we had come upon a vast lake. Mist swirled over it, and after lifting me down from the horse's back, Erik guided me to a wooden gondola that was docked nearby. He continued to sing.

"_In all your fantasies, you always knew_

_That man and mystery…_"

"…_were both in you!_"

The boat was small, and he stood so close behind me as he poled it along that I rested my back against his legs. The contact burned through me, keeping me safe.

"_And in this Labyrinth, where night is blind,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is here / there, inside my / your mind!_"

His fingers touched my neck, and he said, "Sing, my Angel of Music!" Obediently, I did.

"_He's there, the Phantom of the Opera…_"

My extravagant vocalizing echoed and bounced off the water and the walls. I sang as I had never sung before, pouring my entire heart into the notes. We approached a metal gate, which lifted, and I saw a dwelling carved into the rock and decked with thousands of candles. Candelabra rose from the lake itself, their candles lighting magically. I continued with my final notes, hitting the top of my range perfectly.

Erik brought the boat up to the shore, and I felt suddenly cold as he leapt out. He set the pole against the stone wall, removing his cloak with a swish, and extended a hand to me. I placed my hand delicately in his, and the heat was back.

"_I have brought you to the seat of sweet Music's throne,_

_To this kingdom where all must pay homage to Music, Music…_

_You have come here with one purpose and one alone!_

_Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me,_

_To serve me, to sing for my Music, my Music…_"

By this time, he had pulled me away from the lake and farther forward, nearing a set of stone stairs. He let go of me for a moment to remove his gloves and set them aside, then caught my hand again and brought it to his lips. The touch of them was light at first, just barely brushing my knuckles, but it deepened as he moved up to my wrist, forearm, and the crook of my elbow. He turned me as he was doing this, until his mouth was on my neck and my back pressed against him.

His large, warm hands were flat on my stomach, bringing me into him with passion. Yet he was so kind and gentle—exactly what I needed at a time like this. I relaxed, and leaned my head back on his shoulder. He touched my cheekbone with his lips, and I sighed in contentment.

"Erik…" I murmured.

"Shhh, sweet," he said, and began to sing.

"_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation!_

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination!_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses,_

_Helpless to resist the notes I write,_

_For I compose the music of the night!_"

--------------

Her eyes closed, and Erik brushed her neck again with his lips. He loved the way she stood against him, her frail body drawing in his strength like sunshine.

"_Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth,_

_And the truth isn't what you want to see!_

_In the dark, it is easy to pretend…that the truth is what it ought to be!_

_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication!_

_Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation!_

_Let the dream begin! Let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write,_

_The power of the music of the night!_"

One of her hands had lifted to touch the left, unmarred side of his face. Her stroke was as light as a butterfly's, but he could feel her quivering slightly. Concerned, he reached out and took his cloak off of the chair he'd left it over and draped her in it. She pulled it around her tightly, and he wrapped her in his arms again.

"Chrissy, dear, let me teach you! I will make your voice that of a goddess! And when we sing together, the earth beneath our feet will cry out! Please, Chrissy…"

She was more relaxed than he'd ever seen her, even in sleep. She was beautiful, he thought, more stunningly divine than the summer stars. And yet, she had been mistreated her entire life—picked on, pushed about, and ignored by all. He could not understand it. But he would make her feel loved. He would show her how much he needed her. He would be kind and caring to her—something she had hardly ever gotten from anyone other than her father. Now that he was gone, it was Erik's turn to keep Chrissy from going astray.

"Erik…please…"

She was going to say no. He knew it. His mouth twisted in disappointment. But then…

"…teach me!"

His grip on her tightened accidentally, and she let out a slight gasp. He loosened his hold apologetically.

"I will lay the world at your feet, my darling!"

----------------

Erik took a step around me so that we faced each other. Gazing up into his eyes, some force of power overtook me, and my legs gave way. I was still awake as he caught me and lifted me in his arms, but the warmth of his body and the pulse of his heart when he carried me began to lull me into sleep.

Extremely drowsy, I smiled sleepily as he laid me down on a soft bed. He began to leave, but I clutched at his hand.

"Please don't go!"

I tugged him gently toward me, and he sighed and lay down next to me. His arms encircled my waist, and I pressed my face into his chest. He was delightfully warm beneath my cheek, and I felt him graze the top of my head with his lips. I wanted to give Erik my life. I had never felt so safe as I did now.

"_You alone can make my song take flight!_

_Help me make the music of the night!"_

My last thoughts were of Erik as I drifted off.

----------------

He felt her relax into the bliss of sleep. There was no such escape for him, but he lay there for a few minutes, enjoying her slight weight on his torso. He then shook his head and moved her carefully off of him, covering her immediately with the silken sheet, and stood to leave, his eyes still upon her. Against his own demands, he bent one last time and kissed her gently on the lips. She shifted slightly but did not awaken. He sighed, feeling like a fool, and left the room.

**A/N: Hee hee! I always start authoress's notes like that. WHO LOVES MODERN-DAY PHANTOM! Oh well...basically a parallel story in this chapter, but don't worry, it gets more original with the delicious hint of the ALW plot that you all love! And I know you're going to flame me for all the lyrics here...but it gets better, this is just the lovely intro of my beautious characters. Love it or hate it, just hit that button down there! Your flames keep me warm at night!**

**P. S. Anyone want to beta!**


	2. Secrets and Trauma

**A/N: I'm happy! I got a quicker-than-usual response from my lovely reviewers...**

**trueinspiration: I'm glad you find it interesting! I liked the ADD too, kind of like me--hey, look, a butterfly!**

**Twinkle22: Thanx! We all love smileys... ;D**

**Alexa: Yes, beginning. And here is Part Two. I actually have up to Ch 5 done, but hey, you guys can wait...you've at least SEEN POTO, right?**

**I'll have everyone know that I had to FORCE Alexa to read this...hee hee hopefully I won't have to produce the loyal Punjab at any time soon...READ ON!**

**Chapter 2—Secrets and Trauma**

"_I remember, there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake._

_There were candles all around, and on the lake, there was a boat,_

_And in the boat, there was a man…_"

When he heard her voice, he turned his head toward the bedroom door. There she was, still swathed in his cloak, staring directly back at him. She was beautiful.

"_Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?_"

He held out a hand as she reached him and pulled her down onto his lap. His loving arms encircled her, and she touched his face. The contact made him dizzy, and he closed his eyes. But the right side of his face turned abruptly cold as she pried off his mask.

"No!" he whispered, one hand going to his face and the other to grab her arm roughly. She didn't seem afraid, or disgusted, but he thought that he would lose her love forever. "Why, Chrissy? Why?"

What came next was as unexpected as could be believed. Chrissy raised her free hand to his deformed cheek, and pressed her lips to his.

Shocked, he stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and moved his arms back around her waist. Her hands were on his shoulders now, clutching him as she kissed him. His own hands were on her back, lightly bringing her into the kiss. He couldn't believe it—he simply couldn't. She was doing this of her own accord, he knew from the way she tilted her head ever so slightly and the way she clung to him, her body molding to fit his. God! She was only fifteen, but she was a lot more advanced than most of his fellow twenty-one-year-olds. He could feel it. Her heart pounded against his rib cage, they were so close.

Finally, he drew back. He had to, or he would have gone mad with his love in a moment. They both gasped for air, locking on each other's eyes. They both felt inside of them the connections no one could deny—abandonment by one or both parents, hatred and negative feelings from the world around them, dementia, whether physical or mental, their passion for music, and their love for one another. Chrissy still leaned against him, drawing his heat and support into her own body. Erik's fingertips moved lightly in circles, massaging her back gently, and she laid her head on his chest.

"We must go soon," he said. "You will be missed in the world of light."

--

"Erik, I don't want to leave!" My grip tightened. He sighed.

"I don't want you to, either," he said, "but you must. And you must not tell anyone you were here."

I lifted my head and gazed at him again. "Why not?"

"There would be trouble," he said kindly. His lips grazed my forehead. "You'd better go. You have a rehearsal today, do you not?"

It was Saturday…I had a rehearsal at ten-thirty. I nodded and he caressed my face with his hand. "You had better go."

"Will you be watching?"

He smiled warmly. "I am always with you." In a sudden urge, I reached up and kissed him again. He tolerated it for a sweet moment, but then pulled back. "There is such thing as too much good, Chrissy," he said.

Resignedly, I stood up. He bent to pick up his mask, which had fallen to the floor, before he did as well. He took my hand and kissed it lightly before escorting me back to the boat.

--

"Chrissy, what did we decide to do on that line?" the incompetent director asked me. I sighed impatiently.

"While I'm singing my line, I move toward the Phantom, who takes a step back."

I was bloody sick of having to keep telling him things. I glanced upward to the very back of the balcony, where I could just barely see the white glimmer of Erik's mask. Only five more minutes before I could go to him again.

"From there, then, Chrissy."

I took a deep breath and faced the young man who was playing the Phantom.

"_This haunted face holds no horror for me now._

_It's in your soul that the true distortion lies._"

"Wait—I think, my dear, we have a guest!" said he.

Just then, the wood-and-metal gate that was part of the scenery toppled and crashed to the ground, just missing the two of us as we jumped out of the way. Someone screamed, "It's the Phantom of the Opera!" I looked up toward where Erik should have been, and found him gone.

"No…he would never…" I thought aloud.

"Chrissy, are you all right?" my nineteen-year-old co-star, Aaron, said.

I looked at him. "Yes, I'm fine, just a bit shaken. I have to go find someone, though. I'll see you on Monday."

"See you."

I dashed off to find Erik.

--

Erik nearly stumbled as he clattered down the hidden passageway. Was Chrissy all right? What was more, who had done that deed? He was in terror at how very close the structure had come to his young love. He was rushing to their assigned meeting place—her dressing room. He thought as he ran. It hadn't looked like a simple mistake. With something as heavy as that gate was, stagehands weren't careless with their knots. Also, he thought, a number of them would have had to come loose at nearly the same time for no one to notice. It was the work of someone good.

He reached her mirror and waited there, his hand pressed against the glass, just in case. When she came in, closed the door swiftly, and locked it, he nearly crashed straight through the mirror in his desperation to hold her and make sure she was unharmed. Still in shock, she burrowed into his arms.

"Chrissy—my darling, are you hurt?"

"No," her shaking voice replied. "Who—it wasn't _you_!" she said almost accusingly.

Stunned, he held her away from him, looking directly into her eyes. "What in hell do you think I am? A hypocrite?" He pulled her back into his chest fiercely, his throat tight. "It came so close…god, I thought I would lose you, Chrissy."

"I'm fine, Erik," she said, hugging him back. "But if not you, who was it?"

"I do not know," he said. "But at least you are all right, and that is what matters."

"Of course," she replied. He smiled and kissed her tenderly, guiding her slowly toward the couch. He sat down with her on his lap, and he cradled her in his arms, still caressing her with his lips. She kissed him back. Suddenly, they heard a loud rampage of heavy footfalls pass by in the hall outside the room. They both stared fearfully at the door, but no one came in.

"Perhaps we should continue this somewhere more private?" Erik suggested, taking Chrissy's hand. She smiled, standing so he could open her mirror—the entrance to his lair.

Once they were in it, he swept her up and spun her around in his arms. She laughed delightedly, and before her feet touched the ground, he had carried her into the bedroom and fallen onto the swan-shaped bed with her in tow. Their kiss became ardent, then passionate when she removed his mask. Erik's hands stroked Chrissy's back, then touched her bare skin as he lifted her shirt ever so slightly…

She jerked away, falling off of him. He cursed himself mentally for forgetting.

"I'm only fifteen, Erik," she whispered, not looking at him.

"I know," said he. "I'm sorry—I forgot…I'm a fool."

She looked back at him and touched his face. "You're not a fool, you're a genius. It's all right. I do love you, but…" She sighed, her hand trailing down to his heart. "I'm not ready. That's all."

He gazed into her hypnotizing blue eyes and said, "Am I still allowed to kiss you?"

In answer, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

--

I hated to leave, but as I had told my mom that I was staying over a friend's house, I had to get home. Erik declined the chance to walk me home, saying that he hardly ever went out in daylight. I walked the two miles to my house alone, thinking all the way.

Erik loved me, and I loved him. Both of us knew that. When he had touched my back beneath my shirt, it had sent bolts of electricity through me. On one hand, I had wanted him to go on, needing him desperately. The other, more or less practical part of me had insisted, _This is wrong._ My body had listened to that part, and released me from the current of desire that he had started. I wondered what could have happened—almost not wanting to think about what I knew would have. To put it simply, we would have gotten carried away, and most likely, both regretted it later.

Erik had told me his theory about the disaster, and I had agreed. It had been planned. Did someone know about Erik, and if so, had he or she been trying to frame him? Why?

I had reached my house without realizing it, and crept up the stairs quietly, trying not to awaken my mother, who was sleeping on the couch. Regardless of my effort, she snapped awake and saw me.

"Chrissy, you have to empty the dishwasher and clean the bathroom today. Also, fold the grocery bags and make supper."

That's always how it is. I get home and she gives me at least four things to do. "I cleaned the bathroom on Thursday," I said.

"Not very well! Do it again!" She promptly fell asleep again.

I sighed. It was going to be a very long weekend.

--

**A/N Again: Yea for fwuffiness and action! Who hates Danielle now, and who hates Christine's mother? YEA! Review, please! (BTW, that's the REASON I probably will not update The True Opera Ghost for a while--I HAVE NO REVIEWS! evil people...) See you in your review! Ciau!**


	3. Charcoal and Memories

**A/N: -gasp- An update! Well, I have been damned busy with my school play, The Importance of Being Earnest (it closes today!) and haven't had ten seconds to get on fanfiction. For those of you who have never been involved with theatre, I have been having 17-hour days for the past two weeks, and I am wiped out.**

**Review!**

**Chapter 3—Charcoal and Memories**

Erik shut the secret door after Chrissy had left him and leaned against it for a moment, depressed that she had gone. He touched his lips where she had kissed him one last time before departing. They had made another lesson appointment for Monday, and he couldn't wait. His legs carried him back down to his home, where he sat at his desk and dug out a sheaf of parchment.

He began to complete the partially finished picture. He had nearly thrown it away, believing at the time that his chosen pose was ludicrous. It was a drawing of Chrissy and him, pressed together in a fervent kiss. Due to their closeness and his medium of charcoal, their bodies were almost indistinguishable. His hands worked swiftly, shading her closed eyes and her soft lips claiming his. He sang to himself as he worked.

"_Shamed into solitude, shunned by the multitude,_

_I learned to listen! In the dark, my heart heard music!_

_I longed to teach the world, rise up and reach the world,_

_No one would listen. I alone could hear the music._

_Then, at last, a voice in the gloom seemed to cry, 'I hear you!_

_I hear your fears, your torment and your tears!'_

_She saw my loneliness, shared in my emptiness!_

_No one would listen—no one but her heard as the outcast hears!_"

Satisfied with his work, he propped the drawing up against the wall and gazed at it fondly.

"_No one would listen—no one but her heard as the outcast hears!_"

"Erik!" He froze. He knew that voice…

He slowly turned and saw her. It had been less than three years since they had parted, but she seemed to have aged considerably. Her hair, once long, deep brown, and full, was cropped close to her earlobes, and becoming prematurely gray and thin. At five feet ten inches tall, she was nearly of a height with Erik, but her long neck, bony legs, and large, arched nose gave the impression of a stork. Her glaring gray eyes accused him, and he nearly winced, feeling as though they were boring straight into his thoughts. How was it that he had once loved her? He swallowed nervously.

"Danielle. How good to see you again."

"Truly?" She stalked toward him. "And where have you been these past three years?"

He gestured to the area around them. "Here."

"Working on your artistry skills, I see," she said, glaring in disdain at the picture he'd just finished. He looked away guiltily. "And who is she?"

"My student," he replied. "No one of importance to you."

"And yet of greatest importance to _you_, apparently!" she retorted, reaching over and snatching the page. "Am I assuming correctly that _this _actually happened?"

He grabbed it back and smoothed it out. "What is it to you?"

She put her hands on her hips and pouted at him. "I thought you loved me."

_Drama queen,_ he thought. Aloud, he said, "I am not a boy anymore, Danielle. It was true, I loved you, but then when you left, I looked to new options."

"A childish, low-minded, foppish soprano?"

He whirled around again. "She is a wonderful girl who has been through more than you can imagine. You leave her alone!"

The look in her eyes became accusing and dangerous once more. "And is she a better student than I was?"

_Yes_, said his mind. His traitor mouth said, "She is well enough, but none could match your beauty, Danielle." He did _not_ want to anger her, so he rose and bowed submissively before her, catching her hand and brushing it with his lips.

"That's it? A kiss on the hand is all I get?"

He looked up, trying to ignore his mental replies. "I just thought…after such separation… it would be only proper…"

"You never loved me!" she moaned, pouting again.

"Of course I _did_," he said benignly.

"Then kiss me, Erik, if you ever loved me!"

He shuddered inwardly, but cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her briefly. "There, now, do you still think I hate you?"

"Yes," she muttered. He sighed and sat back down again, his head in his hand.

"Danielle, I'm doing my best. I haven't seen you in three years. We have changed enormously—done other things, seen other sights, met other people. You cannot tell me you saw no one else over these years." He looked up at her, and her frown deepened. "I shall say it once again—I did love you when I was eighteen. Now I am twenty-one, and I have met Chrissy. It is not a crime to change your feelings, as far as relationships are concerned. We sang a brief harmony together, but it has faded. I still like you, but not as much as I love her."

He folded his hands and rested his chin on them, giving her the chance to think over what he'd said. She didn't appear to want to, however, and after spitting several curses at him, turned abruptly away and stalked off into the shadows.

"Just don't blame me," he called after her.

--

He was right, curse him. She had even been engaged over the time they'd been apart. In fact, most of the reason why she'd come back had been because her fiancé had been abusive. She had been stupid to believe that he would still want her after all this time.

Unlike Erik, Danielle did not hate modern technology. The trap she was setting up now was set off by laser sensors, and could be activated by satellite. As she set it up, she thought about just how much she hated Erik's new—she hated to even think the word— lover. God only knew what they had done together. She tried not to imagine. Then again, she thought, the girl was quite young. Young enough, she hoped, to fall into this trap.

--

**Love it or hate it...reviewers get voodoo doll of Danielle, complete with eight thousand pins and a private lesson from Erik!**


	4. Pain and Passion

**A/N: gasp An update! Well, yes, pholks, here it is. Kinda short, but the next one'll be up quicker, I promise. grumbles about high school**

**IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS IS AN M-RATED FIC, SO DON'T REPORT ME!**

**teehee...thanks!**

**Chapter 4—Pain and Passion**

I was in a bad mood as I stalked through the Labyrinth. My mother had been on my back since I had gotten home on Saturday, bombarding me with things to do, while she slept or watched TV. She had also nonchalantly announced to me this morning that my father's funeral was taking place on Wednesday. I got a 59 on the social studies test, and found out that I was failing math. All in all, it had been an understatedly terrible day. I just wanted to get to my love and let him hold me in his arms and kiss my pains away.

Suddenly, I heard a clank behind me. I whirled around, and just barely leapt out of the way, as a heavy block of stone crashed to the floor and shattered. One of the pieces flew up and hit me in the face, opening a gash on my cheek. I screamed in pain, then found myself being pelted from above with hard, white objects. I tripped and fell trying to get away, letting out another shriek as I hit the cold floor. I scrambled to get up, but my hand slipped on one of those objects, and I screamed in pure terror when I saw that it was a human skull.

I was trying desperately to push myself away from the pile of bones when I heard someone's hurrying footsteps.

"Chrissy?"

"Erik!" I cried, reaching frantically for him. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his arms, stroking my back.

"Chrissy, I'm here, my dear. It's all right."

My legs would not support me, and Erik lifted me in his arms and carried me, half-fainting, down to the bedroom.

The cut on my face throbbed with pain. Erik laid me on the bed, whispering, "I'll be right back." I waited in agony.

When he had heard her screams, Erik had dashed to Chrissy as fast as his legs would carry him. He'd been in shock to find her state. Now, he gathered a soft cloth, cool water, bandages, and a cleaning salve, and brought them back to the wounded girl. He winced in sympathy as he began to clean the gash.

A few minutes later, he was done, and she opened her eyes painfully.

"Erik, you must know who's behind this!" she said, clutching his hand.

He grimaced. "I believe I do." He proceeded to tell her about Danielle. When he finished the tale, Chrissy was staring up at the ceiling. She still held his hand tightly.

"So," she said slowly, "you think it was she that dropped the gate?"

"Yes," Erik replied, running his fingers through her hair. "And I'm afraid for you, Chrissy."

She sighed and put her hand over his. "Erik, please kiss me."

He was surprised by this, but he obeyed, leaning down and accepting her beckoning lips. Her arms went around his neck and she pulled him down on top of her almost clumsily, as though she were desperate for his love. Which, he thought, she probably was. He gave it to her, struck by how much he needed her as well. With his lips, he hungrily ate away at the fear and loneliness that had encompassed her for years. Her hands moved down to his back, and he reveled in the sensation of her touch.

All he wanted to do just then was to take her in, absorbing all her fears and depressions. She had been hurt so badly by the world, and he knew that he was the only one who truly understood how that felt. He caressed her form with his gentle fingertips, kissing her pains away. She responded delicately, reaching out with her tongue and inviting herself into his mouth. Erik allowed it, returning the favor, savoring her taste and the feel of her body pressed against his.

Her fingers, still moving lightly over him, became more persistent, pressing into his shoulders, sliding down his spine to his waist. His feelings of love increased into those of passion, and then desire as the tips of those long fingers just barely grazed the bare skin that showed beneath his loose shirt hem. She did not pull away, as though it were an accident, but instead increased the contact, until her palms were settled in the arch made by the small of his back. Almost without him knowing, his own hands had been responding to her motions, creeping their way under her tank top, massaging her stomach ever so slightly.

Now those deft hands of hers moved to his sides, and then his abdomen, tugging gently at his bloused, pirate-style shirt. It was open and sliding down his shoulders before he knew it, and his fingers parted from her skin for an instant to shed the sleeves. The air was a little cold, but her touch made warmth spread through his entire body. They hadn't broken their kiss this entire time, and Erik was beginning to drown in her love, her need for him. His knee was digging into the down mattress, positioned just between her thighs, making him burn with her heat. He was starving for her deep in his heart, and his breath came short as he finally wrenched himself away to look her in the eye.

"Chrissy—I want you!"

Her eyes were wide but accepting, and filled with the lust he felt inside. His fingers dug into the flesh of her slender waist, and he felt hers still pressing firmly into his shoulders.

"Then take me, Erik!"

He started. One of her hands reached up to pull his mask away and he barely paid attention, still staring deeply into her eyes. She was willing to give herself up to him?

"Chrissy, are you sure?" he asked her, his voice a rough whisper. She nodded ever so slightly, then drew him back into her kiss. Trembling, he slid his hand up her arm and began tugging at the strap of her tank top. She let him, never resisting, still making a constant circle over his toned back muscles with her palms. She even helped him, shrugging her arms so that they passed through the straps, allowing him to pull away the covering of her developed features. He was maddened by his own slow work, but resolved to bring this awakening upon the young girl gradually.

He gave way to a tiny bit of his desire, dragging his lips down to her neck. His teeth grazed the surface of her skin, and she twitched beneath him. His kisses moved lower, reaching her breasts, where he began to suck at her tenderly. He felt her shiver and dig her fingertips into him, silently begging him to go on. He still wondered if this was right, but the worry was crowded out of his mind by his ever-persistent libido.

His hands began to work at removing her jeans, and he heard a low moan emit from the back of her throat. He lost track of what he was doing, only knowing that his lips were covering her torso, and his hands soon rendered them both unclothed. He moved up to claim her lips again for a single moment before he pulled back just enough to speak.

"Chrissy—you've never done this before." It wasn't exactly a question, but she shook her head slightly. He cupped the side of her face in his hand. "You're quite sure about this?"

"Erik," she breathed, "there is no man in the world I would rather give my virginity to."

His lips parted. Oh, god, she wanted _him_ to be her first lover! Now he had no excuse. "I'll help you," he whispered, and kissed her more sweetly.

He directed his hands to her thighs, and gently pulled them apart. She followed his every guiding touch, as though she had no mind of her own. "That's it," he breathed, a mere millimeter away from her lips. "Now, the next part is mine, you just relax. Are you ready?" Her eyes, reflecting the one candle that was still lit, were nearly glassy with her passion. After a moment, she nodded, and he pressed his lips against hers, preparing to claim her for good. He braced himself above her, and slid smoothly into her core.

A wracking shudder made her body seize up for a moment. Erik paused in his motion— had he hurt her?—but relaxed and continued as her hands wrapped around his waist. He ground his hips against hers, pulling back and plunging again in just the right rhythm. He burned with the ardor that their passion created, still working her with his hands. She responded, and he almost found himself questioning the fact that this was her first experience. Almost.

He had to control himself. There was no way that he could go as far as he wished to. He simply could not let the liquid fire of passion consume him—the risks were too great.

No, that would have to wait.

He ordered himself to leave her, and although it was several lust-drowned minutes before he could bring himself to do it, he managed with a great sigh. But the instant she felt her emptiness, she clutched at him.

"Give me more, Erik," she whispered, her voice hoarse and breathy.

He couldn't deny her. He simply couldn't.

"Wait," he breathed, and shakily pushed himself away. He fumbled in a drawer for his salvation, not taking his eyes from his trembling teenaged lover. He knew only vaguely what his hands were doing as they grappled clumsily with the item he'd withdrawn, sheathing him, protecting her…

He returned, fuller and stronger than before, but sweeter as well. Chrissy smiled and accepted him within her, closing her eyes as his warm lips descended upon her breasts again. She fingered the arch of his spine as he pleasured her so delightfully, yet deliberately. He felt smoother to her, as though covered…

Protection.

Well, that was all right.

His friction made her bleed, but she didn't care. She was absorbed in the simple feel of him. Erik's hands explored her, finding each and every pressure point, caressing each spot, discovering how exactly to please Chrissy, to bring her to where he needed her…

And this time, as he felt her burn, contract, convulse in pleasure, he gave way.

When Erik finally left her, Chrissy didn't bring him back. She sighed, letting him slide off of her to the side. Even that was too far away, though, and she turned, curling up on his bare chest. She felt so right against his body—so perfect within his arms—that it made him want to cry out. He contented himself with burying his face in her hair, breathing in her scent like oxygen. She was his life now. That was official.

"Did it hurt?" he asked her, concerned as always.

She paused a moment, tracing his collarbone with the tips of her fingers. "It did, a little, but it felt good. Do you know what I mean?" She twisted to look up at him. "Like when a doctor sets a broken bone or something of the sort. It was a good pain."

He smiled in his quirky way. "I know what you mean."

"Good," she said, and planted a swift kiss over his heart. He could have died right then and there, and been perfectly happy with his life, but he couldn't deprive her of that happiness she was showing with every curved line of her body. "But, Erik," she said, looking at him with a more serious tone in her eyes, "we must be careful."

He knew what she meant, on every level. He nodded understandingly and kissed her forehead. He would never do anything to inconvenience her—in any way.

Except, apparently, make her late for her rehearsal. His reliable clock sounded the sixteenth hour from the other room, and Chrissy jumped so suddenly that she crashed to the floor in a heap. She leapt up, digging around for her clothes.

"I'm supposed to be there at exactly four-fifteen, in costume and in position!" she moaned.

Erik pulled his own outfit from the heap of articles on the end of the bed. "I'll help you," he assured her. "Come on, quickly!"

With a final pause to grab his mask, the two of them dashed out of the lair.

**A/N: Wow. Yeah. Love it? Hate it? Want it beside you at night? Let me know...I got ONE FLIPPIN REVIEW FOR THE LAST CHAPTER! you people suck...I swear that I'm going to give reviewing lessons...**

**P.S. HE'S MINE!**


	5. Parallel Death and the House

**A/N: Heh. Heh. Heh. SO, didja like the last chapter? I probably lost reviewers...:( Oh well. For those of you who actually CARE...**

**I'm FINALLY reading the Susan Kay novel. That book is the SHIZZLE! So, anyway...sorry about the long wait. Here ya go.**

**Chapter 5—Parallel Death and the House**

It was two and a half weeks later, and the night of the first performance. With only half an hour to go before I was due onstage, Erik and I stood in my dressing room. He was helping me get ready, with my costume as well as my voice.

"You'll do amazingly," he breathed in my ear, tightening the last string of my Hannibal slave-girl costume. "You really do sing like an angel."

I caught his arm and pulled it around my waist. He settled comfortably into the embrace, hooking his chin over my shoulder. "Thank you," I said quietly, soaking in the strength of his essence, "for everything."

I felt him smile as he touched his lips to his favorite spot on the back of my neck. I giggled and pulled away coyly, reaching to lift a skirt from my dressing table. Something white fluttered to the floor.

"It's an envelope," I said, picking it up, "and it's got your name on it, Erik."

His expression turned from puzzlement to alarm. "There's only one person…" he said, snatching the letter and breaking the seal. A miniature explosion occurred, giving a flare of sparks and releasing a thick cloud of smoke into our faces. We both stumbled so far back that we fell onto the couch, coughing heavily. Erik dug out a clean handkerchief and laid it over my face so I wouldn't breathe so much of the smoke. He held me close to him until it cleared, then got up and picked the paper up gingerly. He returned to my side and read it aloud.

"'Your days with Miss Day are numbered. You must be careful on her behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should she attempt to take my place. D. G.'"

"Who is D. G.?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Danielle Garnier," he replied softly. His knuckles, as his fingers clenched the note, were white, as was the part of his face that I could see. I knew what this meant as well.

"Erik," I said timidly, "she's going to kill me, isn't she?"

This seemed to snap him back to the present. He flung the paper away from himself, then turned and pulled me to him desperately. My arms locked around his neck as he buried his face in the crook of my neck and shoulder.

All he said was, "Oh, Chrissy!" It was all he needed to say. I clutched at his shoulders and he pressed me to him. Neither of us said anything else for several long minutes. I had never seen Erik so afraid, not even when I was almost killed by Danielle's first act of violence. He was trembling horribly, and I could feel his desperation at the thought of losing me through his tightly clenched muscles. We held each other until he finally attempted to relax slightly.

"You have to go in a few minutes, my dear," he said, his voice shaking as much as his body. "You have an audience waiting."

"And you will be part of it?" I said, looking up at him.

He gave a weak smile. "I shall be closer than you know. Don't worry," he added, more seriously. "I'll think of something."

There were more people attending the play than Erik would have ever suspected. Chrissy's friends were there, along with some of her teachers. He noted, from his unseen seat in the rafters of the stage, that her mother had not come. From his place, he could see the audience, the stage, and part of the wings as well. It was only minutes until the curtain opened upon the auction scene, and he saw Chrissy backstage, looking slightly nervous, but confident and beautiful.

He had not caught sight of Danielle just yet. He had little doubt that she was somewhere nearby, and he continually glanced around, beware of traps. The theatre gradually grew dark and silent, and he heard the fateful first words...

"Sold! Your number, sir? Thank you. Lot 665, then, a papier-mâché musical box in the shape of a barrel organ..."

I glanced up to where I knew Erik to be. His unseen presence was making things a little better for my first professional performance. I set myself for the cue.

"_The trumpeting elephants sound!_

_Hear, Romans, now, and tremble!_

_Hark to their step on the ground!_

_Hear the drums—Hannibal comes!"_

I had worked hard on the dancing for this scene, and was glad to be doing well. I almost smiled out of character when I heard Madame Giry's "You, Christine Daaé! Concentrate, girl!"

Then came "Think of Me" and "Angel of Music", followed by "Little Lotte" and "The Mirror". I sang with my entire heart, as Erik had taught me, especially during his favorite theme song, "Phantom of the Opera", the one we had sung together. Nothing dangerous happened, until the very end of "The Point of No Return". Aaron and I were in position, in our little embrace-type thing, when, as I was about to remove his mask, there was a scream from offstage. We looked over, and saw people rushing, and went on performing nervously. The music swelled as normal, and we went offstage appropriately. The director came up to us hurriedly.

"Joel Carter, who played Joseph? He's been murdered."

_Holy hell_, I thought. _Danielle._

Someone pulled Aaron away for a moment, and the director spoke to me. "Keep on going like nothing's wrong, okay? As long as nothing else happens, we can deal with this without interrupting the show."

My cue had come—I was tugged at by who I thought was Aaron, but when I caught his eyes, saw it was a mask-less Erik. I kept silent, giving him only a look, before we plunged onstage.

"_Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair!_

_Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!_

_Down that path into darkness deep as Hell!"_

My voice was slightly tight, but I tried to suppress my nervousness. Erik's grip on my wrist was protective, and I felt safer knowing that he was there. We sang through without incident, up to the end.

"_Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?_

_God give me courage to show you, you are not alone!"_

I put my hands over Erik's deformed face and pulled him to me, meeting his lips with mine. Both of us knew that the action could be deadly. When I parted from him, his eyes flicked upward unobtrusively, then filled with fear. He dove at me, pushing me out of the way just in time as a shot rang out from the rafters. A skeletal figure suddenly towered above us, its face covered, holding the still-smoking pistol. Erik stood in front of me protectively, continually pushing me away from the person that must have been Danielle.

The curtain dropped closed, but the drama still continued. Danielle addressed Erik in a loud voice as she advanced upon us, still holding the gun poised.

"I would have chosen peace between us, Erik, but you have not only continued to ignore my warnings, you have openly defied them!"

"Erik, don't listen to her!" I whispered in his ear. "Let's go, Erik!"

"Shut up, child!" she snapped at me. "You have no idea what love is!"

"And you do, Danielle?" Erik said mildly.

"You shut up as well! I'm through with your attitude, Erik! You will be mine!"

The click of the pistol as she cocked it was loud, but so were the thundering footsteps of the approaching police forces. She glanced around and, seeing the men, swished her cloak over her form. There was a loud crack, and smoke billowed over the stage. Erik pulled me away from it, pushing past other people to a secret passage. I followed him, terrified.

How he found his way through the pitch-blackness, I'll never know. But he did, and we emerged into his lair. He immediately began stuffing sheets of music into a bag, and I asked him what he was doing.

"I had a feeling something like this would happen," he replied, barely glancing up from his packing. "So I have a small house in the outskirts of town. We can go there for a while, at least, and I'll probably move there now that this has happened. You're coming with me."

"What?"

"Tonight."

"Oh, okay."

Although I would have gladly gone with him until the end of my days, I knew that it was a bad idea at my age. I helped him gather some essentials—he'd return for the rest later, he said. He gave me a long black cloak and draped one about himself to hide our passage. Keeping to the shadows, we made our way through the back roads until we reached a private street that led, winding through the woods, to a well-hidden dwelling.

Erik unlocked the door of the house and let them both inside before locking it tightly behind them. He dropped the bag he held on the floor and bid Chrissy to do the same. She was white in the face, and he wasn't surprised. He felt white as well, but he drew her into him comfortingly. Her touch made him feel better, even if she was madly shaking. He stroked her back lovingly, smiling feebly at the way she curled into him. He knew that she counted on his support, and he just hoped that he would be able to give it.

"Erik..." she murmured softly.

"What is it, my love?" he replied.

He heard her exhale deeply. "Just hold me," came her voice.

"Gladly."

Moving one arm down to support her legs, he lifted her easily and brought her to the music room, where he lay down on the plush couch with her on top of him. She burrowed into his chest, gripping the lapel of his jacket in her hands. For a long time they simply breathed each other in, not speaking or moving much, steadying their breath.

Finally, she spoke. "Erik?"

He had been half-asleep. "Hmm?" he muttered.

"Why is it that you chose me?"

The question made him start. "What exactly do you mean?" he said.

She shifted a little against him. "You told me you started taking an interest in me shortly after Danielle left you."

"Right," he said, not sure where she was going.

"Why did you? What made you love me?"

He thought for a moment, massaging the back of her neck gently with his hand. After a few moments, he said, "I heard you, one day, singing on the stage. You were all alone, and it was late, and you were crying. I do not know to whom you were speaking, but you said that your father was away and your mother had hit you. You were afraid for him and yourself, I think, and you cried out for an Angel to save you."

"I remember."

"Yes," he continued, "and in your voice, I heard the pain you had endured and the beauty that would be. I wished I could help you, but I simply didn't know how. Then, when the production of _Phantom_ began, I realized certain—er—_similarities_ in the script and our lives, so I decided upon taking a Phantom approach."

"And here we are," she said. She looked up, smiling a bit crookedly.

"Here we are," he concurred, and bent his head just enough to brush her lips with his. When he pulled back, she refused to let him, lifting his mask away and bringing him down to her. He chuckled a little at her persistency and allowed her to claim his mouth with her soft one, matching the warmth she put into the kiss.

Although it had begun to rain outside, and the clock ominously chimed eleven, he knew somehow that everything was going to turn out okay.

I never wanted to open my eyes the next morning. Sometime before midnight, we had transferred our session to Erik's bed, and he had made the sweetest of love to me until we finally fell asleep at two. He was still asleep now, and my head was on his exposed chest, which rose and fell with his steady breath. I traced his collarbone with a light touch, reminiscing about the night's pleasures.

I pondered the sort-of explanation that he'd given me for his attentions. He loved my voice—of that I was sure. I thought that, for lack of better words, he also loved my pain, for he could definitely identify with it. I couldn't explain too much to myself, and I didn't want to try. All I knew was that Erik loved me, and he loved me for myself. That was all that mattered.

My thoughts turned to my music. It wasn't only my music, I realized. It had become my life, and half of it belonged to Erik. Our two souls were combined as one, not to mention our bodies. And he had accomplished it all through his music. He had me under a spell of music, and I didn't mind one bit.

I felt him stir and awaken beneath my cheek, and I felt my heart swell with anticipation and love. I craned my neck to watch him open his eyes, and was met with his lips. He kissed me soundly for a minute or more before I drew back enough to whisper, "Good morning."

"Sleep well?" he said, his voice still a bit rough from our shared passion.

"Very well, thanks to you." He raised a hand and traced the line of my jaw, then moved it up to run his fingers through my hair. He tucked it back behind my ear, gazing fondly into my eyes. His love showed in every line of his body, but I saw a flicker of something else cross his face.

"Erik, what's the matter?" I asked him, touching his deformed cheek gently.

He blinked, starting from his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I was just thinking about the show...last night..."

I bit my lip. "Kind of you to come onstage with me," I said, knowing that it had been more than kind.

"Well," he said, "I love you."

The words seemed to reach inside me and pluck at m heartstrings. I kissed Erik tenderly, wishing for nothing but him, and his music. He filled my soul more with every second that our bodies remained in contact.

When he finally drew away, he was smiling. I brushed my lips against the base of his throat and asked, "So, what happened to Aaron?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Do not be angry with me, for he is unhurt. It was just chloroform, I promise you."

"Just chloroform," I repeated dryly, and kissed his cheek. I simply loved lying in his arms. His hands fit perfectly in the hollow of my lower back. I never wanted to leave. But I was hungry. Erik seemed to know this, as he knew so much else about me, and began to edge slowly out from beneath me.

"Come, my darling," said he. "It is time to arise."

**A/N: Awwww! They're in love! Stupid Danielle...cackles at her in upcoming chapters But if you want to read more, you have to review. That's all there is to it. And the review windows now even have spellcheck! HOORAY!**


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